


Faded

by Ashenwarrior



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Character Death, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Don't let me write fanfiction, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Reincarnation, Sad, This is just a bucket of tears, hopefully this doesn't happen in the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashenwarrior/pseuds/Ashenwarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a really short angst-filled ficlet.  I swear that the next thing I write wont be nearly as...  Yeah.<br/>I really wanted to explore the mental states of this character, because he seems so vulnerable at the moment.<br/>This is basically just practice for my writing.</p><p> </p><p>HOLY GOD I JUST REALIZED THAT SEASON TEN'S FINALE IS HORRIBLY ANGST FILLED AND DEAN AND CAS SORT OF JUST FALL.<br/>I AM SO SO SORRY BECAUSE THIS FIC IS PROBABLY NOT HELPING YOUR ANGST FESTS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded

**Author's Note:**

> Oh! Please tell me if there are grammar mistakes. I have a thing against bad grammar, and I love critiques! *u*  
> (I'm warning you now that this isn't the most happy thing out there.)

He wanted it off.

  
It stung his against his skin as he ran through the rain, chewing on a bloodied lip and praying that maybe everything would be alright.  
The man leaned against a tree for support, grabbing at the mark. He tore uselessly at the swollen skin, which only seemed to taunt him with more pain.

Dean Winchester wanted it off.

The hunter kept on his march through the forest, the wet of leaves and puddles seeping through his torn boots, chilling the soles of his feet. Rain beat through the trees, burning against open wounds

and soaking his shirt. His face was coated with the sticky crimson he had come to know so well over the past years.

  
When had he last smiled?

  
The question made him halt for a few seconds, before he continued to mush onward.  
Calling for the angel was pain-staking, because no response was returned.

  
Dean blamed it on the loud crashes of thunder.

  
Deep down, somewhere in himself, the hunter knew nothing would be the same.

  
He had seen it coming.

  
With the wars in Heaven, it was likely that Dean would never see Castiel again. He knew this from the very start.  
The angel had called him on his cellphone early in the morning that day, voice worn down and faded.  
Just like everything else.

  
The world was worn down.

  
But there was some sort of child-like aspect radiating off of the angel's voice. There always was.  
And instead of listening to his friend warning him to stay inside of the bunker, to not go looking for him, Dean focused on that voice. Drew from it. Because the world was so bleak and had nothing to give, but here this angel was, giving his everything just to keep the two brothers alive.

He knew he should have stayed in the bunker, but as soon as Castiel said goodbye and ended the call, the hunter was running outside.

  
When Sam died in his arm months ago, Dean blamed himself. Because if he had chosen to let the mark take over, he could have saved his little brother from a bullet.  
But he couldn't let the mark take over. Sammy told him not to.

  
So instead, Dean called the police. His little brother had been shot by a mugger. No demon, no angel, no reaper. A regular human.  
The world worked in strange ways.

  
And so here he was, sprinting through a forest to find his last friend.  
He was greedy.  
He needed Castiel to be alive, not for the angel's sake but for his own sanity.

 

  
When he arrived at the open grove, he could smell the rusty tang of blood.  
The mark seethed in his skin, trying to devour the smell.

"Cas?"

  
About ten feet away from him, Dean could see the coat protruding from clots of grass. When he neared it, the hunter realized it was the only thing there. A neatly folded coat.  
But it hadn't been washed. Dean chuckled for a few seconds. It was like his friend to do something like that.

The cloth was damp with blood, the once tan material now a terracotta.

  
Dean picked the item up, unfolding it and holding it in the rain, blood slowly washing out of it.

  
It had to be fresh.

  
His heart beat sped up, adrenaline rushing through his system.  
"Cas?"  
When he spotted his friend, he inhaled deeply.

The angel lay on the ground, limbs bending in awkward angles. His eyes gazed off into nothingness, a dull gray replacing the once vibrant blue.  
Faded.

His chest was punctured, blood starting to dry around the wound.

All Dean could do was stare. There were no tears, because Dean didn't feel any emotions.  
He was empty.

 

The hunter crouched down near the once lively character, gently resting the trench coat over it. When he pushed the angel's right arm under the coat, something fell to the ground.

Cas was holding something.

  
Dean half expected it to be a note, but upon inspecting the item, he could see that the item was just a flower.  
It was a large flower, vibrant and yellow, sharply contrasting with the dulled greys the world produced.  
The mark throbbed, pain shooting up his muscles as he inspected the flower.

  
The angel found some color for him.

 

Dean woke up, sweat dripping down his face. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like eternity, before staring at his bare arms.  
Cas poked his shoulder, shooting him a lazy grin before pressing a finger to the disturbed man's nose.

  
"Is something wrong, Dean? Did you have another bad dream?"

  
Dean gazed into crystal blue eyes, nodding slowly.

  
"What was it about?"

  
Dean thought about what parts of the story to tell Cas, before he decided to leave what he could unsaid. "You were an angel."

  
Cas laughed, staring at the ceiling before flashing Dean a childish grin. "Don't you mean I am an angel?"  
He got out of the bed, waving to Dean before walking out of the room.

  
Dean watched as the other walked away, and traced his arm. He could have sworn there was something on one of his arms.

  
It took him a long time to remember that Cas had asked him a question. He knew the man was being blatantly sarcastic, but he couldn't help the word from slipping out of his mouth.

  
"Yeah."


End file.
